


Crime and Punishment

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consent Play, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosmerta is caught stealing from her competitor and gets what's coming to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crime and Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 round of Kink Bingo. Kink: "Genital Torture"

Rosmerta had just plucked the bottle from the shelf when the footsteps halted and the lamps flared to life, catching her out redhanded.

"Show yourself!"

Sheepishly, she peeked over the edge of the bar to find Aberforth Dumbledore—admittedly the owner of the bottle in her hand—looking properly cross and bed-rumpled, with his wand drawn and nothing on but his boots and kilt.

"Oh, _very nice_ ," she purred, looking him up and down. Then she slipped around to the front of the bar and pouted at Aberforth's cranky scowl. "Don't be a stingy neighbour, Ab. I'm out of peach cordial."

"You broke in."

"You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you. But now that you're up..." She smiled, leaning back against a bar stool and teasing up the hem of her skirts just far enough to incite doubt as to whether she was wearing anything underneath.

Aberforth shoved his wand into his waistband, but that did little to diminish the threat as he advanced upon her, his voice low and utterly unamused. "I told you what would happen if you kept this up."

"Refresh my memory—" she said, or at least tried to say, as her voice rose to an alarming squeak on the last syllable while her back hit the bar and Aberforth's hand clamped hard between her legs.

Her feet immediately shifted further apart, her back arching in eager encouragement as Aberforth began to frig her roughly through her skirts. Say what you wanted about the man and his manners, but good lord, he was steady. The swift motion of his hand was more devastating than any vibrating charm, and the friction of the fabric, even damp as it soon was, lent a delicious edge that shortly had her straining up on her toes.

"Oh!" she cried, grabbing at Aberforth's shoulders as his hand kneaded hard at her pudenda and a deft thumb circled her clit with clockwork precision. She pressed into it urgently, crying out again as the flush of heat overtook her and she came hard enough to leave her trembling.

She was a one-shot woman, as Aberforth well knew, and—still breathless—she waited for him to cease the ungentle caress and claim the slick spoils of a job well done. But he didn't. He slowed but didn't stop, gathering up her skirts handful by handful as he stroked her. Then his bare skin was against her own, naked and intimate.

"You're a thief and a hussy, Rosmerta Campbell," he said, his fingers pushing inside her and the heel of his hand grinding against her sensitive flesh.

She twisted, nearly flinching at the contact. "What are you—" But he held her fast, and her words broke off in as gasp as he fucked her ruthlessly with his fingers, his palm pushing against her swollen clit with every twisting thrust. Oh, bloody hell. Her raw nerves sang out, the stimulation almost unbearable.

Her teeth dug hard into her bottom lip, but it was not enough to keep back the pathetic, pleading mewls that tripped from her tongue as Aberforth wrung one shuddering shadow of an orgasm after another from her until she was clinging to him for dear life.

She nearly babbled in relief when his fingers finally withdrew. Her knees were knocking, and her clit was pulsing painfully. She could feel herself dripping, wet and sticky to the thighs. This proved to be no reprieve, however, as Aberforth—his kilt tented out tremendously—got down on his knees with a resentful grunt.

"Oh, you bastard," she breathed out a moment before his mouth found her.

His beard rubbed coarsely against her thighs as he lapped at her, and his mouth, deliriously, was cool in contrast to the heat of her sex. His tongue flicked deliberately at her clit, making her thrash, and then there was the press of teeth around her pudenda and his mouth was fixed, sucking hard, and she was very nearly screaming as the lightning bolt of pleasure and pain shot through her.

She was beyond the ability to curse his name by the time he turned her forcefully around, his hands firm upon her hips. She clung gratefully to the bar, barely able to stand on her own as a wet mouthful of come and spit found its way between her cheeks. Aberforth rose with another stiff grumble, and then his cock was pressing against her, pushing in the back way. Her fingers dug frantically into the bar top and a husky moan was drawn from her as his cock slid in smoothly, eased to an almost obscene degree by the copious wetness still dripping from her.

That punishing hand returned, rubbing hard, smearing her own juices all over her. She had no choice but to push into it, her hips driven forward with every slow, insistent thrust of Aberforth's cock. Her head hung down as she cried out full-throated, her hair falling from its knot and her eyes stinging with tears.

She shivered, shaking all over, her teeth nearly chattering as he buggered her for what seemed like ages, slow and steady and stubborn. A certain harshness to his breathing and a slight snap to his thrusts was all that heralded his satisfaction—her sex too wet and swollen to feel anything but her own desperate, pounding pulse. His hand smacked smartly against her clit as he pulled out, and she let out a faint sob, racked by one more jolting peak before she descended, her legs jelly and her mouth agape.

Several moments passed in which she could do nothing but convince herself not to swoon. Then she distantly heard Aberforth straighten his kilt, and her own skirts fell into place. There was another griping grumble, and then a bottle was set upon the bar next to her with a decided thud. The peach cordial.

Face flushed and wet as her sex, Rosmerta nonetheless managed a small smile as she sniffled, and when she could trust her voice enough, she murmured as breezily as circumstance allowed: "Don't worry about it, Ab. Now that I think on it, I've got two bottles back at mine."


End file.
